Highschool Lover
by Luminaires
Summary: High school murder mystery AU. Originally written for the kink meme. C.C., Chell's best friend, has been murdered under mysterious circumstances, and she and Wheatley take it upon themselves to investigate.
1. Highschool Lover

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry that this had to happen, but, well, here we are.

This was a prompt on the Portal kink meme over at Livejournal. Someone asked for a high school AU, and I had just watched the movie Brick and some episodes of Twin Peaks within a 24 hour period. So instead of general high school drama shenanigans, the OP got this...weird murder mystery thing. The image of Chell and Wheatley solving mysteries together was too cute to ignore, as was the character possibilities involved in humanizing all the robots.

Also, just to be clear, C.C. is the humanized version of the Companion Cube.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Highschool Lover<strong>

_you're the piece of gold that flashes on my soul._

_- playground love, air_

The Aperture Math and Science Academy was, to put it mildly, a very unusual school.

It was situated about an hour away from Cleveland, and was surrounded by rolling cornfields for at least a mile in every direction. The only thing to break up the monotony of the endless farmland was a defunct sombrero factory across the street. The school had apparently once been a shower curtain factory, then an experimental science facility, then a haunted experimental science facility, but had been repurposed for educational use. It was easily the tallest and biggest thing in the area, and had been added on to many times over the years. To phrase it in the kindest way possible, it was "architecturally diverse" and "in need of a little repair". In other words, it was haphazardly designed and falling apart.

This was where Ohio's brightest and best high school students came to further their intellectual development, to jumpstart their careers as doctors, lawyers, overpaid CEOs or underpaid scientists. Some of them were rich; some of them not so much. Some of them were incredibly intelligent; others had bought their way in. But, whatever their background and status, the students all shared the same vague goal - to get ahead, graduate, and get the fuck out of the Midwest as soon as humanly possible. And getting ahead, at Aperture, involved tests. Lots of tests. Principal Johnson had looked at the testing guidelines proposed by No Child Left Behind and decided they weren't strict enough, rambled on about lemons for a while, and then issued an order that tests were to be given every day. In every class. No exceptions. When life gives you lemons, you give those lemons tests until 100% of lemons either meet or exceed the state-set average.

Principal Johnson, unfortunately, had failed to grasp the concept that there needed to be below-average students in order for there to _be _an average, but Chelsea Freeman understood that fact, and it was one of the many reasons why she loathed Aperture with every fiber of her being. She hated the teachers. She hated most of her fellow students (with a few exceptions). She hated being in the middle of nowhere for nine months out of the year. And most of all, she hated the endless, repetitive, mindless _tests. _As a freshman, she had been lured in by the promise of a better education than the one she would receive at the local high school; as a senior, Chell's illusions about the nature of Aperture had been thoroughly shattered. The only thing keeping her from going back to Cleveland in defeat was her friends.

And she was worried about one friend in particular.

C.C., her oldest friend, a girl she had known since kindergarten, her constant companion and confidante, had gone missing. It was all over school. Her dorm room was empty. She hadn't been in classes for several days. The police had searched the cornfields around the school, every dorm room, and every classroom, and found nothing. C.C.'s parents had been notified, and the school was on the verge of getting the FBI involved. Meanwhile, the rumors had spread as fast as lightning. Everyone had a theory or opinion on where C.C. had gone, or knew a friend who knew a friend who thought they saw her.

"I heard she had a suicide pact with that kid who always talks about space and he decided to pussy out at the last second."

"I heard she got on a bus and went to Arizona because she can't stand being friends with that weird Chell girl anymore. You know, the one who's creepy and fat and has no parents."

"Okay, like this is just something I heard, but someone told me she might've gotten pregnant? And so like, she went to Canada? And didn't like, tell anyone where she was going?"

Everywhere Chell looked, her friend's smiling face stared back at her from posters on the wall. That dirty blonde hair, those wide, slightly lazy blue eyes, and above the familiar picture, the sobering word "MISSING". Chell felt lost without her. Sure, she had other friends, but C.C. was the one who was always there for her. Even as C.C.'s popularity rose and she spent more and more time among the company of her fellow cheerleaders, she made sure to include Chell as much as she could, and made time for her whenever she needed it. They were radically different in appearance, C.C. the living portrait of a Prom Queen Barbie, Chell small and dark, but there was something about the two of them together that made people often ask if they were sisters.

For a week, Chell basically operated on autopilot. She walked through the cold concrete hallways, tuning out the whispers and laughter that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. She answered every question about C.C.'s disappearance with a sigh and a shrug. She curled up on her hard bed every night and wept, and if she had dreams, she did not remember them.

"Are you alright?" Wheatley would ask her, watching her pick at her food. "D'you need a hug, or like, moral support, or some kind of dessert or something? Because I can totally - "

"I'm okay, Frosted Wheats," Chell would reply. "I'm just tired."

She was tired of being worried. She was tired of not knowing. She was tired of people walking on eggshells around her and whispering behind her back. Chell wanted to go back to her room, and cry some more, and sleep until C.C. came back from Canada or Mexico or wherever everyone thought she had gone, but she couldn't. She had to stand up, walk out of the cafeteria, go to English class, and take a test on _Hamlet. _She had to act like everything was fine, when in fact it wasn't at all. Everyone was treating the situation like it was some exciting episode of a true-crime television show, instead of a real person who was really missing. It almost made Chell want to call home and tell her adopted parents that she had made a horrible mistake, and could she please finish out the rest of the year back in Cleveland, but she knew everyone would miss her too much and it was only three more months so she might as well stick it out. C.C. would come back. She had to. She probably went to have an exciting adventure somewhere, to try her hand at being a teenage runaway for a while, but she would come back. She had to.

Chell had a dream that night where she was lying on her bed, holding hands with C.C., talking about boys, and how much they hated school, and how C.C. was going to ask her mom for a care package that had a lot of gummy candy in it. C.C.'s little hands were so soft. The little heart pendant she always wore lay on her chest. _"Everything's okay as long as we're together,"_ C.C. said, but it sounded echoey and far-away.

When Chell woke up it was a beautiful morning. She usually woke up before everyone else so she could get down to the tutoring lab early to put in some extra study hours. Still in her pajamas, she pulled back the dingy white curtains and looked outside. The sun was just rising, splashing brilliant colors across the sky. For the first time in several days, it brought a smile to her face. She dressed quickly, pulling on the ugly blue and orange uniform. The dress code at Aperture was hideously outdated; girls were still required to wear skirts and "dress shoes". Chell's substitute of purple high-top sneakers had so far gone unnoticed. She was a practical sort of girl and wanted to be prepared in case of an emergency - she'd seen enough movies to know that girls who dress for fashion are always the first ones to trip right into a horde of hungry zombies. Yes, the shoes clashed, but who the fuck cared? They didn't pinch her toes, and that was all that mattered. Tying her hair up into her usual ponytail, her only makeup a swipe of Chapstick, Chell grabbed her bag and dashed out the door, heading to the library.

The hallways were deserted. Everyone else was still asleep. Chell whistled quietly to herself as she walked, making her way through the labyrinthine passages and secret shortcuts of the massive building. The library was located in the wing of Aperture that had been added on in the '70s, and although it was covered in floor-to-ceiling wood paneling and carpeted in a hideous shade of vomit green, it was Chell's favorite place in the entire school, because no one really went there unless they had to. It was so quiet in there you could almost hear the dust floating through the air, and sometimes they had free coffee.

As soon as Chell entered, she got the feeling that something was wrong. The smell of coffee and old books was drowned out by something else, something that smelled of copper. Her usual long table by the window had something on it that looked like one of those zippered bags that clothes get put in after they've been dry-cleaned, except it was bigger and full of something. The copper scent grew stronger as Chell drew nearer to the table, and so did her newfound feeling of nausea. She slowly unslung her bag from her shoulder, letting it drop to the floor. Chell knew, in the back of her mind, what was in the bag, but she had to make sure. As she approached the table, she could see a little metal thing set on top of the bag. Upon realizing what it was, Chell's hand flew to her mouth.

It was C.C.'s heart necklace.

That smell was blood. Her friend's blood. C.C. hadn't gone to Canada or Mexico or run away with some boy to have an adventure. Someone had killed her, and probably cut her into pieces, and put her in a fucking body bag. Tears prickled at the corners of Chell's eyes as she began to hyperventilate. Her chest hurt. She couldn't breathe. She had to get out of there and tell someone.  
>Grabbing her bag, Chell ran towards the exit. Back through the hallways and corridors, across metal walkways and down flights of stairs, she sprinted like she was running a marathon. Her face was wet from crying. She felt like the world had just turned upside down. Her best friend was dead. She could barely think. She just kept running, and running, and running, all the way to the Student Services office. The counselors, still half-asleep and making their morning coffee, turned as one to stare at the crying girl as she hurtled through the door and down the hallway to Principal Johnson's office.<p>

" - it's perfectly fine if a little asbestos gets in their food, they're young healthy kids, their organs will be just - "

Principal Cave Johnson looked up at the sound of his office door being abruptly yanked open. "Can you excuse me for just one second?" he asked whoever was on the other end of the line, and tucked the phone under his chin.

A sobbing girl with flushed cheeks and disheveled hair stood in front of his desk.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?" he asked. "Did someone steal something of yours? I keep telling them to not let the robotic monkeys out of the - "

"C.C."

"What?"

"Cass - " The girl was so upset she was stuttering. "Cassandra Cal-calpurnia Cassavetes. The m-missing girl. She - she's - she's in the library."

The look on the girl's face made the meaning of_ in the library_absolutely clear. So this was how it would end. A death in the school, the first in twenty years. And not just a death, a murder. If the other parents heard about this, the school would almost certainly be shut down. The girl continued to sob loudly, in a tortured sort of way. Johnson's usual morning migraine increased the longer he listened to her cry. She needed a counselor. Or someone maternal. Or possibly some nice tranquilizers.

"Ellen!" Johnson bellowed. "Get in here!"

The door flew open again, revealing a nervous-looking older woman with a short haircut and stretch pants.

"Yes, Mr. Johnson?" she quavered.

"C.C. Cassavetes has been found. Take this girl into your office, I'll call the police myself."

As the girl was led away for emergency counseling, she turned to look back at him, leaving Johnson deeply unsettled. She was terrifyingly angry and very sad, and her narrowed eyes suggested that if the police couldn't find out why her best friend was dead, then she would take the law into her own hands.

Johnson hoped, for the sake of his sanity and the continued existence of the Aperture Math and Science Academy, that that would not be the case.


	2. Cake and Grief Counseling

**Author's Note: **I THROW MY HANDS UP IN THE AIR SOMETIMES, SAYING AAAAYYOOO, IT'S CHAPTER TWO, YO

Thank you all so much for the tremendous response! I didn't expect people to like this little bit of silliness so much.

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><p><strong>Cake and Grief Counseling<strong>

_you'll be flying blind, people never change,  
>bitch don't even try, you'll be flying blind,<br>you've got to keep it together  
>swear to me you won't fall apart<em>

_- keep it together, aqueduct_

Chell's wish to go back to Cleveland was granted during spring break, but unfortunately, she had to go back for a funeral.

Ordinarily, her arrival at home would have been a pleasant occasion, marked with hugs and baked goods and some kind of special family outing, but this time the only special family outing was in the form of Chell's mom taking her to get a dress for the funeral. It was just beginning to be spring, and the stores were full of pretty, gauzy floral things, but instead Chell was buying a shapeless black shift that looked like a funereal potato sack. The girl that stared back at her in the dressing room mirror appeared to be dead herself, with deep bags under her eyes from lack of sleep and too many tears. She was exhausted. Nothing seemed real to her, not even the room she was standing in. There were blanks in her memory. Time passed and she couldn't remember it. One minute she was in the dressing room and the next she was outside, holding a shopping bag, going to get coffee with her mom.

Coffee was about the only thing she could keep down these days. Chell could barely eat, and every time she tried, she felt sick. Her parents tried to steer her away from watching the news or going online, where C.C.'s disappearance and murder were being dissected in minute detail, but to no avail. Chell needed to know everything, even if it made her feel worse. The autopsy had been released, along with an official police report, and Chell had learned something from that police report that made her feel even worse than she already did.

C.C.'s family had been quite poor compared to the families of the other girls on the cheerleading squad. Chell had often wondered where C.C. got the money to pay for the various uniforms and activity fees, as well as the unspoken requirements of dressing like you just stepped out of a Tasty Couture ad, but was always too polite to ask. Half of the times C.C. had said she was going to cheerleading practice, or out with her other friends, or to some other unspecified function, she had actually been doing paid "favors" for some of the senior guys. The very idea made Chell feel even worse than she already did. Why hadn't C.C. said anything to her? If Chell had only known, she would have helped her friend in some way. The Freemans weren't exactly rich, but they could have helped pay for the activity costs, since cheerleading meant a lot to C.C. and Chell wasn't in any extracurriculars. And according to some of the people the police interviewed, C.C. could have been into drugs as well.

Chell hadn't known any of this. She could only imagine how it must have hurt C.C. to do things like that, to reduce herself to an object for sale just so she could pay for a uniform. C.C. had always wanted to make her parents proud, to excel at everything. She had gotten into Aperture on a full scholarship. But that hadn't been enough, just to be smart. She wanted to be popular too, and she was, but not in the catty high school movie way where some girl is popular despite being snobby and mean. The word most used to describe C.C., in the TV interviews with Aperture students, was "angel". She just floated around, smiling and being extra nice to everybody, and all the while knowing that she had to fuck some guy she didn't love or even know, so she could pay for her designer purse, so the other girls on the team would still respect her, because they thought she was rich like them. And now, Chell thought sadly, C.C. really was an angel, if there was even a Heaven to go to.

Gradually, Chell stopped talking. It happened almost without her thinking about it. She started using gestures more to reply to people, and by the time of C.C.'s funeral, she didn't speak at all. It was a vow of silence, a commitment that not a word would pass her lips until C.C.'s case was solved.

She went to the funeral with Wheatley and her parents. It was a sad little affair. Not one of C.C.'s cheerleader friends had bothered to show up. It was closed casket, as the body was in too horrible a state to show. Chell sat there, between her mother and Wheatley, as various people got up and spoke about how C.C. was a model student and a wonderful daughter and this and that. She felt that tightness in her chest again, that nausea. The whole church smelled of white lilies, overpowering and sickly sweet. Chell closed her eyes and breathed in deep to keep from crying, and Wheatley knew immediately what was wrong. He put his hand on top of hers, and she grabbed it and squeezed back, hard, visibly struggling to keep it together.

The visitation was even worse. The first thing Chell was greeted by upon entering the funeral home was the life-size cutout of C.C. that they had made in graphics class the year before as a joke. All of C.C.'s friends were there, but they didn't appear to be sad at all. They were talking and laughing, like everything was fine. There was a table to the left of the entrance with a giant banner for everyone to sign, and the smell of white lilies was even more prominent. Pictures of C.C. were plastered everywhere - the smiling one from the missing posters, her cheerleading picture from last year, snapshots of Chell and C.C. as little girls. Chell was unable to tear her eyes away from the last ones. It seemed like only yesterday that they had been six years old, running around the Freemans' backyard and pretending they were fighting aliens. In the picture, C.C.'s little face looked up at the camera, her smile riddled with gaps from recently lost teeth, her blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

"Chell," her mom said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I think you should go say hi to C.C.'s mom."

Chell nodded, and walked over.

Mrs. Cassavetes was sitting by herself in an armchair near the table with the banner on it. She looked absolutely heartbroken, like she could barely stand to be there. She gave a weak smile as she saw Chell approach her.

"Hello, Chell," Mrs. Cassavetes said. "It's good to see you."

Her voice sounded thin and dry, like wind rustling through reeds.

Chell pulled out a notepad and a pen from her purse. It was how she had begun to communicate instead of talking.

_Hi, Mrs. Cassavetes, _she scribbled. _I'm so sorry for your loss._

She then held up the notepad for C.C.'s mom to read.

"Thank you, Chell," Mrs. Cassavetes said. "I don't want to pry, but is there a reason why you aren't talking?"

Chell flipped a page on the notepad and wrote again.

_I've taken a vow of silence until they find out who did it._

"That's very sweet of you." Mrs. Cassavetes looked down sadly. "But the police said they didn't have any leads. It's kind of pointless of you to - "

Chell thrust the notepad into the woman's face.

_Until __they__ WE find out who did it._

"Chell, honey, that's a very nice gesture, but you should really leave this to the FBI, or someone who knows about murder investigations. This isn't Scooby-Doo or some teen crime drama. You could get hurt."

Chell shook her head. _I'm sorry but I have to do this. Even if I fail. I owe it to C.C. I hope you understand._

"I guess I do."

Chell put the notepad back into her purse and stepped closer to Mrs. Cassavetes, holding out her arms. The older woman stood up, and they hugged. Mrs. Cassavetes was a tiny woman, barely coming up to Chell's shoulder. She felt something wet on her shirt and pulled away; C.C.'s mom was crying.

"I'm sorry, I just..." Mrs. Cassavetes wept. "It was so sudden. And I...I miss her so much."

Chell's response was to hug C.C.'s mom tighter, until she finished crying. Watching this woman in the throes of grief felt almost surreal. The Freemans and the Cassavetes' had known each other since their daughters were in kindergarten, and now they were at a funeral, and C.C. was gone. The universe had snapped its fingers and Chell's world had rolled over like a dog doing tricks.

She pulled away again and nodded at Mrs. Cassavetes before walking to rejoin Wheatley and her family. Chell got the notepad and pen out of her purse, quickly wrote something down, and waved it in front of her.

_I need to get out of here I think I'm gonna cry I cant breathe so good right now_

Without a word, Wheatley grabbed her hand and practically dragged her across the room and out to the parking lot. There was no one outside, save for a nearby squirrel who was engrossed in chewing on an abandoned potato over by the Freemans' car.

"Are you okay? Well I mean, I know you're not _okay _okay, but you're not in danger of like, jumping off any buildings, are you? Because you're my best friend and I don't want you to jump off a building. D'you need a hug? Or, or, I just had an idea, when we get back, you could come over and we could make the kind of cake that has sprinkles in it, and we could - "

Chell held up her notepad. _Damn, Breakfast of Champions, slow your roll. Also a hug would be nice._

Wheatley pulled her into a tight hug, Chell's face buried in his chest. After the past couple of days, Chell thought she was all cried out, but talking to Mrs. Cassavetes and seeing all the pictures made everything come flooding back. This was the first loss that she had ever dealt with, and it was really hard, but Wheatley made her feel a little better, though. He always could. She stood there, her arms around the only person in the world who understood her, and cried. Wheatley was making some sort of vaguely circular, reassuring hand motion on her back.

"I really...I really am sorry that all of this happened," Wheatley said. "It seems like bad things always happen to you and it's incredibly unfair and - oh look your parents are here."

Chell pulled away and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving large black streaks of runny mascara. They walked over to Chell's parents, and got in the car to begin the long drive home. The silence in the car was punctuated only by classical music coming from the radio, which seemed inappropriately cheery. Chell stared out of the window at the cloudless blue sky and endless identical houses, and thought about how she was going to tell Wheatley that he was about to be roped into a vigilante murder investigation.

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><p><em>You're being roped into a vigilante murder investigation.<em>

Wheatley dropped his fork in surprise.

"I _what? _Wait, am I reading this correctly? Maybe you meant to write something else, like, 'you're being roped into a_ vegetable _murder investigation. That would make a lot more sense."

Chell scowled and pointed to the message on the notepad again.

They were sitting on Wheatley's gigantic waterbed, eating Funfetti cake straight out of the pan and watching Wall-E on mute. Chell hadn't done this in a long time, and she had missed it. The headache she knew she was going to get from all the sugar was far preferable to the headache she normally had from crying.

"But _look _at us!" Wheatley exclaimed. "I mean, do we look like vigilantes to you? You're probably about ninety pounds soaking wet, and I'm, well, I have terrible asthma sometimes, and neither of us know how to use a gun-"

_Since when did I say guns would be involved?_

Wheatley's eyes rolled heavenward. "Since when do you know the rules of vigilante justice? Uh, Batman, he doesn't kill people, but he has guns. The guy from Watchmen with the blob mask, he has guns. I know there's more, but the point is, vigilantes have guns. And they can usually lift a lot of heavy things. And well, we sort of...can't."

Chell's pen scratched across the paper. _come on Wheats work with me here, you are overthinking this. We'll cross the potentially deadly bridge if we come to it. _

"Alright, fine, I'll do it because you're my best friend, and best friends like to help out best friends who have suddenly lost their best friend, but you should know that this _is _incredibly dangerous, and we will probably die, and everyone will always remember us as those two stupid people who ate a lot of cake and died too young."

Wheatley sighed and flopped back on his bed, causing everything to slosh slightly to the right. Chell leaned over the edge of the bed and very carefully set the cake pan on the ground before coming back up, silently praying that she wouldn't topple head over heels at the last second and go crashing to the floor. They lay there for a while, staring up at Wheatley's ceiling with the glow-in-the-dark stars, comfortably sharing the quiet, and wondering what lay ahead for both of them. In the past few days their worlds had changed tremendously, Wheatley's as much as Chell's. He had never known anyone who had experienced loss before, and though he had not known C.C. as well as Chell had by any stretch of the imagination, it was still a strange thought that one minute, a girl in his class could be alive, and the next, she was just gone.

Chell reached for Wheatley's hand across the gulf of sheets, an unspoken _thank you _hanging in the air between them, the only sound the incessant buzz of the fan. It would be hard and scary, and Chell knew that obstacles would present themselves at every turn, but they were going to solve this together, and that meant something.


	3. Plans

**A/N: Oh my god I am so sorry this took so long. Real life happened, and I graduated high school! And I haven't had very much drive to write since then. But, I managed to get this done. I need to go play Portal 2 again so I get more inspired. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews, guys! It really means a lot.**

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><p><strong>Plans<strong>

Chell, in an effort to stave off monumental waves of depression, spent the rest of spring break hanging out with friends. Her parents, while they meant well, only served to make her even sadder than she already was; Mrs. Freeman was very sentimental about death, and spent the better part of an hour relating a parable about dying leaves and God, which made Chell furious instead of comforted. Chell had tried not to cry, but her efforts were futile, and she grew so angry that she turned white and shook. The experience was already wrenching enough for Chell without adding theology into the mix. Chell's mother thought C.C. had gone to heaven. Chell's father thought that humans didn't even have souls. Wheatley thought that C.C.'s spirit was part of everything around them. And Wheatley's little brother thought that C.C. had gone to space.

When Chell thought about C.C., especially late at night, she often found herself looking to the stars, and wondered if Wheatley's brother might have the right idea after all. His family had been so kind to her in the weeks since what Wheatley hesitantly referred to as The Incident. They had always been a truly lovely, if slightly offbeat, bunch of people, but the generosity they had displayed to the two grieving families was nothing short of extraordinary. The first day that Chell had arrived back home, Wheatley's little brother had showed up on her doorstep holding a casserole pan about half the size of his body and claiming that it was "space lasagna". Wheatley's mother had gamely allowed Chell to sleep over for multiple days at a time. And Wheatley himself, although he said he wasn't good with "all this emotional stuff", had been outstanding, just by being there.

After the visitation, they didn't talk about it as much. Things settled back into a sort of routine. Every day, unless she was already at his house, Chell would get up, get ready, and walk down the street to the big, blue, rickety Victorian house. Most of the lawn space had been taken up by a flower garden, and those cheesy statues of angels and cats were everywhere. Once she got inside, the little fluffy Pomeranian that belonged to Wheatley's mother would jump all over her like he'd never seen her before. Then she would go up to Wheatley's room, small and dark and covered in stick-on stars, and they would play games or watch movies or talk about people they didn't like.

When they were on the topic of people they didn't like, Caroline McLain's name would inevitably come up five seconds into the conversation. She was one of those people that put up the facade of being incredibly nice, but if she got you alone, she was one of the most unpleasant girls that Chell had ever met. Caroline was also the most popular girl on the cheerleading squad, and led the Abstinence Club, which Chell thought was a gigantic joke, because she knew for a fact that Caroline regularly hooked up with Rick North in the projection room. Before she knew about Caroline, Chell thought that girls like that only existed in '90s teen comedies. Caroline was shallow, petty, and pointlessly cruel, and Chell was not looking forward to seeing her when they returned to Aperture.

Unfortunately, the first day back, Chell bumped into Caroline in her way to the lunchroom. It was a Monday, she was tired, and as a result wasn't watching too closely where she was going. She nodded by way of apology and tried to leave, but the tall, blonde girl swiftly stepped in front of her and blocked her path.

"Don't you know how to say sorry? Where did you learn your manners?"

Chell reached into the leather shoulder bag she always carried and pulled out her red notepad. Quickly flipping to an empty page, she scrawled _I've taken a vow of silence _and held it up for Caroline to read.

"What, are you going to be a nun now since you finally realized you're going to die a virgin? Oh, no, wait," Caroline fake-pondered, tapping a finger against her chin, "I'm pretty sure that creepy British guy you hang out with all the time would fuck you. Isn't that why he's friends with you? So he can like, creep on you until he gets some?"

_I took a vow of silence until they find C.C.'s killer. Go fuck yourself._

"Wasn't she like your girlfriend or something? I mean, she was nice enough, and it sucks that we lost her because she was strong enough to lift people when we do pyramids, but it's just so _weird _how you go on about it."

Chell glared furiously, and made to leave again, but once again Caroline blocked her path.

_Why do you hate me? I haven't done anything to you._

"Just stay out of my way, and we'll have no problems. Okay?"

Chell narrowed her eyes, and pushed past Caroline, accidentally-on-purpose hitting her with her purse. Caroline's insults were stupid, and untrue, but they got to Chell in a way she couldn't quite explain. From the first day they had encountered each other, Caroline seemed to have this innate ability to make Chell mad. Chell stomped through the lunchroom to the table by the window where she and Wheatley usually sat, dropping her bag onto the table and hurling herself into the chair.

"You look mad," Wheatley observed, pushing his sliding glasses back up his nose. "Very, very definitely mad. I got you cheese fries, just so you know."

_Thanks. Caroline thinks you're trying to get in my pants. Yet at the same time she thinks I'm a lesbian. I'm not quite sure how that works._

"_What? _No, no, that's just...she is completely...I mean it's not like you're repulsive or anything but you're like my sister, y'know? She is absolutely _mental. _Christ." Wheatley paused to angrily eat a cheese fry. "And what makes her think she can just talk to you like that, anyway? I know we had this whole talk about sexist language, but she really is such a twat."

Chell smirked and held up her notepad. _True facts. I think we should start a suspect list._

Wheatley nodded. "And she'll be the first one on it."

_She may be an emotionally unstable bitch, but I seriously doubt she could kill anyone. Remember when we had to dissect the fetal pig in AP Bio last year and she ran out of the room to throw up?_

"True. We shouldn't rule her out, though. Hidden depths and all that. Like on Dexter when the guy with the ice cream truck or whatever turned out to be Dexter's brother, and then everyone was really confused and made weird faces, and the angry tall lady said 'fuck' a lot, but then the black guy who also said 'fuck' a lot died in an explosion, and you know, I _might _have watched multiple seasons while half asleep, but that's beside the point. The point is - "

_People have layers, and Michael C. Hall makes you fall asleep. Got it._

"He doesn't make me fall asleep!" Wheatley said through a mouthful of fries. "He's a very lovely man. If I were into men. Which I'm not. Well, I'm not right now. But I hear that when people go to college, sometimes they make purely scientific experiments that usually end in disappointment and, occasionally, jail. Anyway, he's not married anymore, so...where was I going with this?"

Chell raised an eyebrow. _We were trying to proceed with our investigation which is highly dangerous and operates outside the law?_

"Oh, right. That. Who d'you reckon we should question?"

_The last person she was seen with was Rick North. Let's start there._

"Like he could kill anyone. I know I'm one to talk, but Rick is a _moron. _He is literally - " Wheatley held up his spork and shook it slightly " - he is literally as stupid as this spork, all right? He got a 9 on his ACTs! And he filled them out and everything! I don't think he even knows what killing people _is._"

_Don't you get 10 points just for signing your name? Anyway, even if he can't tell us anything, it wouldn't hurt. Unless you have a better idea._

Wheatley leaned back in his chair and pouted. "Fine. But I'm not interviewing him. You do it."

_You would be a better choice for interviewing Adventure Boy, Wheats. You can actually talk, remember?_

When met with no reply, Chell sighed in defeat and got up to throw her trash away. On the way to the trash can, she spotted Rick North hanging out at his usual table, Caroline by his side, surrounded by his loud and annoying friends. Getting Rick away from his group would be a surgical procedure, but Chell felt sure that she could glean some valuable information from him. And she knew just how to do it, too. She returned to the table she shared with Wheatley, a smug smile on her face. This was going to happen. They were going to do something. Even if they failed, and Chell knew there was a chance they would, at least they were trying. And trying was better than nothing. It was better than stagnating in a lonely bedroom and crying. It was better than leaving things up to adults who didn't know what they were doing and authorities who couldn't be trusted.

It was better than moving on, and growing up, and forgetting.


	4. Thickening the Plot

**A/N: **Hey, it's the fourth chapter already! Not much to say about this one that isn't said in its title. Plot thickens. Chell goes on a bad fake date. Wheatley gets a panic attack. And all that jazz. Love you guys!

Sailor Blaze - I love your ideas! It's just that, this isn't going to parallel Portal 2 so closely. Caroline might have a change of heart, though. I would say more but that would be spoilers ;D

* * *

><p><strong>Thickening the Plot<strong>

_"i said goodbye to someone that i love,  
>it's not just me, i tell you it's the both of us<br>and it was hard like coming off the pills that you take to stay happy  
><em>_on second thoughts I'd rather hang about and be there with my best friend  
><em>_if she wants me"_

_if she wants me - belle & sebastian_

The final version of the suspect list contained names both plausible and wildly unrealistic. Some people, like Adam Scott, the constantly angry wrestling star who often drank gallon jugs of milk in class, seemed like they might actually be capable of murder. But sweet little Maggie Dickinson, the Bible-thumper who wore giant coke-bottle glasses? That was a little too absurd, even for Chell. Still, as Wheatley had said, you never can tell with the quiet ones, and Chell decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

They were starting with Rick North, as he was the easiest to get alone. Chell was apprehensive about Wheatley's plan, but it was the best one they had. The plan was thus: over a couple of weeks, Chell would slowly begin changing her appearance and mannerisms, so as to appeal to Rick's shallow nature. Then, Chell would meet Rick at the frozen yogurt place, play up the weepy friend angle all she could, and as he comforted her, ask him tearfully if he knew anything at all. As a man of adventure, Rick wouldn't be able to resist the lure of a damsel in distress. Wheatley had stressed the importance of gaining Rick's trust as much as possible, and that meant that Chell would have to temporarily suspend her vow of silence. Nothing would make Rick feel more important than being the only one that Chell chose to speak to.

Chell had agonized over the decision to speak, even if it was only a one-time deal, but eventually decided that the investigation was more important. That was her rationale for doing everything these days; the investigation was more important._ Sorry, Mr. Rattmann, I don't have the history timeline today _(because she stayed up last night making a timeline of the events surrounding C.C.'s murder). _Sorry that I couldn't call home, Mom _(because Chell was too busy scouring every newspaper article for something, _anything). Sorry, Penelope, I can't hang out today_ (because she was busy transforming herself into the kind of girl that Rick North would agree to meet with). As her GPA slipped, the amount she was learning grew. How to walk in high heels. How to hack websites. She was dusting for fingerprints and dusting glitter on her eyes. The pens and pencils in her purse shared space with a can of pepper spray and strawberry-flavored lip gloss.

Chell glanced at her clock. Half an hour until 4 pm. She had no time to waste getting ready; the complicated ruse devised by Wheatley had added agonizing minutes to her daily regimen. No longer could she just sweep her hair into a ponytail and race out the door. She had to sit down at a mirror and put on a mask, her hand shaking as she lifted the mascara wand to her eye. Her hair was in a half-up style, with bangs falling coyly into her eyes. Gone were the days when casual dressing meant a t-shirt and jeans. The new Chell wore dark skinny jeans, a pink Hollister v-neck that showed off the minimal amount of cleavage she had managed to invent, skyscraper-tall high heels, and as a concession to the undercover nature of the whole thing, a trenchcoat-style jacket. She regarded the vision in the mirror with an amount of suspicion, poking worriedly at her Wonderbra-enhanced chest. If a wild gunman came into the frozen yogurt store and shot her in the heart, Chell was confident that she would emerge without a scratch, because her breasts felt like they were encased in Kevlar.

She emerged from her room and walked down the hallway to the elevator, unsteady in her new shoes. The elevator ride down seemed endless, only adding to Chell's nerves. She wasn't sure she was a good enough actress to pull this off. It was unlikely, but what if Rick was smart enough to see through her ruse? What if he genuinely loved Caroline and wasn't just using her as a sperm depository? What if her heel broke, or the ice cream gave her cancer? The elevator doors slid open and Chell teetered out into the lobby, smiling nervously at the security guard as she passed. He gave her a disapproving look as she pushed open the heavy glass doors and exited the building.

The Exploding Lemon Frozen Yogurt Emporium loomed across the street. Or, if this were a movie, Chell imagined the building would loom, possibly with ominous music. In reality it was somewhat squat and cylindrical, painted a blinding shade of yellow, and with a roof that resembled a sombrero, which made sense because before it was the Exploding Lemon it was the Flying Burrito. Chell looked left, then right. The road in front of her appeared deserted, as it normally was, but it never hurt to check. She wobbled across the asphalt at what felt like a snail's pace, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door of the restaurant.

There Rick was, inelegantly sprawled at a table, having already ordered frozen yogurt for the both of them. Chell took a seat and smiled gamely at him, noticing that her order was topped with peanut M&Ms instead of regular. _Fuck. _She hated peanuts. But if it helped the investigation, she would grin, bear it, and eat them for every meal.

"Hello, little lady," Rick drawled. "You're lookin' mighty fine this afternoon, if I do say so myself."

Chell reached into her purse for her notepad, only to discover with a jolt of horror that it was not there. Her pen, however, was, and so she grabbed a handful of napkins from the table to write on instead.

_Thanks! So are you, _she scribbled, dying a little on the inside with every letter she wrote.

"Aw, darlin', it's nothin'. So to what do I owe the pleasure of this...date?"

Chell did her best to look distraught as she scooped up a spoonful of frozen yogurt. Even with the disgusting peanuts, it was pretty hard to look sad with all that sugar in her mouth.

_I've just been having so many...feelings lately. _

"Oh, say no more, say no more," Rick said, reaching across the table for her free hand and enveloping it in his giant, sweaty palms. "You're all torn up about your lady friend."

She looked down and batted her eyelashes, giving a mournful little sniff. Rick was totally eating this up.

"Y-yes," Chell said hoarsely, forcing the word out of her mouth. "I miss her so much. You know how girls are."

"Whoa there, I didn't know you could talk!" Rick exclaimed.

"I feel so...comfortable around you," Chell lied, her voice breathy and weak. "Like I could tell you anything. It must be because you're a big, strong man."

Rick looked flattered, leaning closer to Chell. "Aw, I feel like I could tell you anything too."

This was it. Her big chance. Here came the million dollar question. Chell was hyper-aware of every second ticking by. The clock was too loud. The garish, chartreuse-colored walls felt like they were burning her retinas. The seats were squeaky. Their frozen yogurt was melting.

"If you know anything," she said. "Anything at all..."

"About what?"

"C.C."

There. She had said it.

Rick ran a hand through his bristly hair, fixing her with his cow-eyed stare. "I don't know nothin', but I've heard some things. More'n likely there ain't no truth to them."

"What have you heard?"

"Just bits 'n pieces here 'n there."

Chell leaned closer. She could smell his hot breath, laced with chewing tobacco, and had to restrain herself from wrinkling her nose.

"Tell me."

"Well," Rick began. "Last couple months, I guess she'd been dealing ecstacy here and there. Don't know where she got it. I never got any from her, but I think Caroline might've. I did get somethin' else from her though, and I'm awful ashamed of that, I've gotta say."

Chell could feel the color drain from her face with every word Rick spoke. She knew what C.C. had been into was dangerous, but dealing? She could barely believe it. And she already knew what Rick had gotten from C.C. She couldn't take any more. The speaking, the lies, the new information, it was all making her head spin. She stood up quickly, grabbing her purse.

"I have to go," she said.

"But you just got here!"

"I'm sorry."

And with that, Chell ran out of the Exploding Lemon Frozen Yogurt Emporium, even more confused and nauseous than when she entered.

* * *

><p>"So, how was your not-a-date date?"<p>

Wheatley was in Chell's room when she got back. Closing the door behind her, she sat down on her bed and pulled off the awful high heels, tossing them onto the scuffed linoleum floor. He handed her the trusty notepad and her favorite black pen.

_Awful, _she wrote, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Did you get anything useful out of him?"

_Apparently C.C. was dealing X. And she gave Rick some type of...sexual favor. I don't think he's our guy. _

"X?"

_Ecstacy. Come on, Wheats, you've watched enough episodes of CSI with me to know what it is._

"Oh, is it that thing that makes you really happy and hug everyone all the time and your pupils get really big, and then your brain can't be happy by itself, so you need to take drugs more and then you have some big mental breakdown scene somewhere with a sappy teen-pop soundtrack in the background and that one guy from the O.C. standing around looking like a twit with 80s hair? I know his name isn't Adrien Brody or Seth Rogen, but it sounds like that."

_You watched the O.C.?_

"It's good to fall asleep to!"

_You keep using that excuse. _

"But back to the investigation," Wheatley said loudly, veering back onto the conversational track from his detour into out-of-date pop culture references, "so he's not our guy."

_Decidedly not. He did say something about Caroline buying drugs from C.C., though. We'll have to keep a closer watch on her._

"Never would've guessed her for the pill-popping type."

_Life's full of surprises._

They crossed Rick's name off the list in bold black marker, and then Wheatley had homework to do so he went back to his room early.

Wheatley didn't really have homework, of course. He just couldn't be in that room with her any longer. The anxiety that he desperately tried to keep at bay with pill bottles marked _S.M. Wheatley _on the side had swelled up inside him into this barely restrained, furious thing. Other boys would look at Chell in that outfit and want to fuck her, but he looked at her, with her hair down and wearing fashionable clothes, and wanted to cry. He knew he could never have her precisely because he thought of her in terms such as _having _her. There was a part of Wheatley's brain that kept reminding him that Chell was a person, and people weren't objects, and she was going through a difficult time right now, therefore not needing the added stress of being pursued by her best friend, but when he was alone with his thoughts that part was immediately overshadowed and pushed aside. He didn't just want to be with her because she was beautiful when she tried, or because she was hurting, or because he was lonely, although all of those were puzzle pieces in the whole.

It was the small things, Wheatley thought as he lay on his bed. The crooked tooth in her smile. The way her dark hair shimmered reddish in the sun. Her nicknames for him. Her tenacity. Her insistence on being there when something bad happened. The time they went to the Field Museum in Chicago when they were twelve and Chell got so excited over the dinosaurs. The time she taught him about feminism. The time a couple Halloweens ago when she'd dressed up as Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's even though she'd read the book and knew that Holly Golightly was really a prostitute.

It all added up to something he couldn't deal with. A girl was dead, a girl that Chell had cared for very much, and he was supposed to be focusing on this important murder investigation but all Wheatley could think of was the ache in his chest. Everyone could see it, even someone as dim as Caroline. And Wheatley had to play along, and splutter disbelievingly, and say "Oh _god _no she's like my sister."

Yeah, sure. Like a non-related sister that he wanted to kiss, constantly, but never found the courage to. And Wheatley knew that even if he tried, she would push him away, because Chell was smarter than that, to fall all over him even if he was her best friend. She could recognize that ploy from a mile away and that was a good thing. It was ironic; the boy who wanted to trap her admired her quality of not letting herself be trapped. No, he thought, _trapped _was the wrong word.

"You can't have a girl," Chell had said. "You can't ever have or keep a girl, because they're not your property, they're people. You can't keep people. That's why so many guys just say, fuck it, and get RealDolls."

_You can't ever have or keep a girl, _he thought as he shook out the recommended dose of his medication into his shaking palm, trying to stop the unwanted tears and the sharp hissing of breath and the scary mucus bubbles that would well up in his throat from crying too hard. _You can't keep her, _but there she was, like a fairy trapped in a bottle, stuck in his heart.


	5. Belonging

**A/N: **Guess who's back. Back again. I am back. Tell a friend.

Boy, this one is a doozy. Interrogations! Religion! Frosting! Celebrity husbands! And of course, what chapter would be complete without the specter of death that lurks constantly around every hallway at Aperture.

Also, Maggie is the Morality Core, Farrah is the Fact Core (yes, I know the Fact Core was originally male, but Caroline needs friends), and the "hungry, angry baby" quote is in fact a reference to Joss Whedon. All religious intolerance comes from the characters and in no way reflects my personal views.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Belonging<strong>

_"i'd like to thank your holy might for making me both rich and white  
>and though this is your day of rest, I come to you with one request<br>there's so much pain beyond this steeple, wars and drugs and homeless people.  
>sadness, where there should be joy, hate and rape and soulja boy.<br>a world in darkness needs your light, so I'm sure your schedule's pretty tight  
>but my dog just had leg surgery if you could fix that first..."<em>

_rant - bo burnham_

_So, who do you think we should question next? _Chell scribbled.

Another dreary cafeteria-bound lunchtime was unfolding before them. It was a lovely April day outside, and the lone magnolia tree in the courtyard had just begun to bloom, but the school had a strict closed campus policy, and neither Chell or Wheatley felt like a run-in with one of the red-jacketed hall monitors. Wheatley flipped through the tattered notepad until he found the list, running his finger down the list of suspects until he made a pencil mark by the one he wanted. He held it up to show Chell.

_Maggie Dickinson? Not a chance._

"You should always suspect the nice ones," Wheatley said. "And besides, she could have information. I had her in my Sociology class last year and she's scary good at watching people."

_If you say so. But I don't see how she could possibly have anything to do with it. I had her in a class too, she was in Advanced Biology with me last year, and every time we had to dissect anything she left the room and cried like a baby. A hungry, angry baby._

Wheatley shrugged, and took a bite of his lukewarm chili cheese dog.

"It couldn't hurt," he said.

Chell nodded.

"Alright. So what's our tactic this time? Obviously not the seduction angle. Unless you want me to join the Abstinence Club and give her a purity ring or whatever it is those sad, lonely people do."

_Wheats, we are virtually no different from those "sad, lonely people". _

"But you're not saving yourself for Jesus, you're saving yourself for...what's his name again?"

_Jake, the firstborn son of the Gyllenhaal tribe. If he is not available by the time I am of marriageable age, then I shall select Joseph, mighty warrior of the Gordon-Levitts. Failing that, I will take a vow of celibacy and go live in the fabled Tent of Weeping, where Fall Out Boy songs are played at maximum volume and the occupants sleep in a nest of Kleenex and shame._

Wheatley made a noise that was somewhere between snorting and choking.

_What, like you have better plans?_

"If, by some miracle of science, I come out of my teenage years looking like an underwear model, or if I rob a bank and buy some really nice suits, I plan to ask for the hand in marriage of the beauteous Princess Megan of Fox. Or the hand in one-night-stand. Or very regrettable quickie. Whichever. Failing that, I will join you in the Tent of Weeping, and we can spend our twilight years eating marshmallows and watching _Angel _together."

_Looks like it's the Tent of Weeping for both of us. Oh well. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we still haven't figured out how to get closer to Maggie._

"That sounds creepy."

_This whole thing is creepy, Frosted Wheats._

"Point taken. So, what should we do?"

* * *

><p>The small, mousy girl stared at her pale reflection in the mirror. She'd taken refuge in the girls' bathroom after someone had tripped her in the hallway, sending little Maggie as well as her massive armful of books straight to the ground. She got a nasty bruise on her cheek as a result. Maggie touched it gingerly, wincing even though she expected the pain. She wished she could understand why people were so mean to her. Just because she didn't choose to subscribe to their debauched teenage lifestyle, apparently that made her a bad person. The older girls called her names, tripped her in the hallway, mocked her flat chest. But, Maggie reminded herself, they would get what was coming to them. Those girls dated a different boy every week, while the only boy in Maggie's life was named Jesus Christ. She had come to Aperture expecting an exemplary education among like-minded students, but by her sophomore year, she had come to realize that most of her classmates were just there to drink and party without parental supervision.<p>

Like that poor, lost Cassandra girl, Maggie thought. Now there was someone who could have used guidance from the Lord.

She picked up her load of books from the counter, struggling a little with their heavy weight, and exited the bathroom, concentrating very hard on keeping her head down and not getting near anyone who was even vaguely popular lest she be tripped again. Suddenly, a bony hand grabbed her arm and yanked her backwards, causing Maggie to drop all her books again with an alarmed squeal.

A sandy-haired, gangly boy and his friend, a harsh-looking girl with burning eyes, stared at Maggie as she scrambled for the second time that day to pick up her books from the floor. The girl held out a notepad. In scratchy handwriting were the words:

_Hi Maggie. We need to ask you a few questions._

"Please, just leave me alone!" Maggie said, expecting some kind of taunting. She didn't like the way the girl's eyes glittered, like she was a hawk about to swoop in for the kill.

"We don't mean you any harm," the boy explained. "I'm Wheatley, and this is - ah - this is for a project. A science project. We need data, and research, and evidence, and stuff! Which we can get by talking to people. About things. We're not going to stuff you into a locker, I promise. Although you do look to be about the right size for it. But that would be mean, and we're not in the business of being mean, we're in the business of science. Right, Chell?"

Chell nodded.

"But won't I get in trouble for skipping class?" Maggie asked.

"Oh come on, love, attendance barely matters 'round here."

"But I'll be in trouble with the Lord, for neglecting my schoolwork! And then I'll be a fallen woman, and end up having to be Satan's bride or something, and go live in Las Vegas with all the other wanton Jezebels, like Paris Hilton."

Wheatley's large, alarmingly azure eyes rolled heavenwards.

"_Fine. _I wasn't going to tell you, but now I have to tell you."

He leaned in very close to Maggie's ear and whispered loudly, "_This is about Cassie Cassavetes."_

"Oh!" Maggie said. "So maybe it's not sinning, because I'm skipping class for justice?"

"Whatever makes you happy. Come on, we haven't got all day," Wheatley said.

And so Maggie followed them through Aperture's maze of corridors, up and down long flights of stairs, feeling like she had just fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole. Her two interrogators had a strange air about them, like they were in their own separate bubble from the rest of the world. Finally, after what seemed like hours of traversing the ugly concrete hallways, they stopped before the door of an abandoned classroom.

"This should do nicely," Wheatley said. He pressed down on the door handle, but it failed to open. "Damn, it's stuck," he swore, stating the obvious.

He tried several more times to wrench the door open, but Wheatley's efforts were in vain, because his long, freckly arms had about as much muscle definition as limp spaghetti noodles. After several minutes of this, Chell gave an exasperated sigh, shoved him aside, and gave a hard pull. There was a loud noise that sounded like a suction cup unsticking itself, and the door opened.

The abandoned classroom had seen better days. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust that floated into the air as the trio walked inside. Faded posters from Aperture's heyday as a science facility covered the walls. There was a pile of broken test tubes in one corner. Some of the desks had been overturned, and one of them looked to have had a large bite taken out of it by some unknown creature. Chell crossed the room to sit on the teacher's desk, pulling down the sleeve of her jacket and wiping the desk with it first so she didn't get dust on her pants. Wheatley stood at the front of the room, looking for all the world like he could actually be a teacher.

"Right!" he said, turning towards Maggie, who had seated herself in one of the rickety desks. "Maggie. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God or Flying Spaghetti Monster or whatever Lord of the Rings you keep going on about?"

"I swear," Maggie said, obediently raising her right hand. "Well, I swear to tell the truth, but I don't swear in real life, because God will rip my tongue out if I utter words unbecoming to a lady."

"So you appear to be in some kind of violent cult. Smashing. Well, let's cut to the chase. Chell and I noticed you have a sort of aptitude for watching people. It's kind of a thing you do. So I was wondering if you've seen anything odd lately? Any suspicious behavior? People with large weapons, for instance?"

Maggie shook her head. "Oh no, nothing like that. I've heard people talking, but it's mostly nonsense."

Chell got up and started to write on the large chalkboard behind Wheatley. _It could be important nonsense._

"It's horrible things. I don't want to repeat them. Some of the things those kids talk about! It shouldn't be allowed," Maggie said sadly. "They cast out one of their own in her time of need, and they talk about how she deserved whatever she got. I know where they go. Some of them, they've found a way down to the abandoned basement, the old rooms of the facility, and they'll have parties there on weekend nights when they're supposed to be asleep."

She pushed her large, round glasses back up her nose and sighed.

"Did you ever see Cassie going down there?" Wheatley asked.

"Oh, yes. That's where she'd go to do the devil's work, that poor lost soul. Turning tricks and dealing drugs to that awful crowd. Oh, how I wish I could have led her to the light."

_Do you know who she was dealing to? _Chell wrote, the chalk squeaking across the board.

"About half this wretched school, seems like," Maggie said. "I know for a fact she and Caroline were in it together. That girl is seriously disturbed. And Teresa Wu, you should ask her. She's in the Art Club. She thinks she's so unique and different, but she's going down a dark path. With that multicolored hair and those big holes in her ears. If she would just come to Jesus - "

"Thank you, Maggie," Wheatley said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've been very helpful. I think that will be all."

Maggie nodded happily and stood up, the pile of books once again clutched to her chest. "You're welcome."

_I have some advice for you, _Chell wrote. _Lighten up a little bit, okay? Get out and have some non-alcoholic fun while you're still young enough to enjoy it._

"I don't trust her," Maggie said to Wheatley. "She looks like a minister of Satan."

"I think saying that kind of thing might be what she means by lighten up, Mags."

"Hey! Don't call me that! Nicknames are the devil's work!"

"I'm going to call you that, because we're friends now. You look like you could use some."

_Is there anything that you don't think is the devil's work? On second thought, don't answer that. _

Maggie smiled. "Friends are nice. Even if they're friends who are mischevious and deceitful and need to accept Jesus into their hearts."

_Oh god, Wheatley. What have you started._

* * *

><p>"So," Wheatley said, once they were back in the decidedly God-free zone of Chell's dorm room. "Teresa Wu."<p>

_I guess we talk to her next. Although I'm not entirely sure how. You can't just go up to someone and ask them if they bought any drugs from your dead best friend. _

"You can't?" Wheatley asked, a look of mock surprise on his face. "I thought being socially awkward and overly blunt was kind of our thing."

Chell collapsed onto her bed, sighing loudly. _I'm tired. Can we talk about this later? I just want to watch something funny and mindless and dip popcorn in frosting._

"Popcorn in frosting? That sounds disgusting," Wheatley said, sitting down next to her. "No, no, I mean good! Really good."

Chell smiled, and turned on the television, and they watched Bo Burnham do his stand-up routine, and even though it was misogynistic and silly, she found herself laughing until her sides hurt. Because sometimes, when one finds themself entangled in a hopelessly twisted web of mysteries, that is all one can do. They sat there, and watched a kid not much older than they were rant about the unfair logic of the world, and how sometimes things were terrible, but you had to laugh at it, because otherwise the world would crush you underneath the weight of all the bad things. Chell sat there, and thought about how immensely grateful she was to have Wheatley for a friend, as Wheatley sat next to her, and thought about how he was so close to her, so close he could kiss her if he wasn't such a coward.

Long after he left, Chell was still deep in thought. The drugs, the sex, the parties in the basement, Caroline and C.C. and Rick, Maggie and her ability to make anything a sin, all of it swirled together in her head to create a confusing stew of words and images that she couldn't make sense of. None of it was leading them closer to C.C.'s killer. Teresa was probably just like Rick and Maggie; someone who meant well and didn't have much to say besides "I wish things were different." Chell knew that things could have been different if C.C. hadn't been so embroiled in the intrigue that led to her death, if she hadn't felt she had to prove something, but Chell's words could only go so far. Her mother had told her so many times, "Chell, _cara mia, _you can't save anyone from themselves." She couldn't have done it by herself. Chell had tried once, with someone else, to singlehandedly pull them up from their own darkness, and it had ended badly. No one else had cared. They had used C.C., and now that she was dead, suddenly everyone thought it was so tragic. Rick hadn't cared enough to tell the girl down on her knees in front of him that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let herself be used like that, and Maggie hadn't cared enough to go up to C.C. and tell her about her Lord, for all the good it would have done, and no one, no one, no one had given a goddamn at all.

But Chell cared. She still cared. She would tear the world apart until she found the person responsible, and when she found that person she would tear _them _apart. She didn't care what happened after that. If Chell spent the rest of her life in maximum security isolation, it would be a life well spent, because C.C. would be avenged. Chell's inner life would become quiet again, and the violent sea of emotions would cease, and she would no longer feel the need to lie on her bed and weep and smash her fist into the mattress, as she was doing presently. It would be over.

* * *

><p>"Sneaking around with that creepy English kid," Caroline said disdainfully. "That's suspicious as <em>fuck.<em>"

"There haven't been any more deaths, though," said her friend Farrah.

They were sitting in Caroline's dorm, the entirety of which was decorated in the most bilious and nauseating shades of pink. One wall was devoted to pictures of Caroline with Rick, and one wall was devoted to pictures of Caroline by herself. There was a bowl of celery sticks between the two girls, which neither of them had touched.

"That's true. But it's still weird. They go around, like, interviewing people, cause I guess they think real life is like Scooby-Doo, and it's like, uh, everyone knows about your top secret invacation, duh!"

"Investigation," said Farrah. "It's pronounced investigation."

"Whatever. Rick told me that Chell - you know, the girl who's like mute or something - she like, tried to seduce him for information! I mean, what does she think this is? Her best friend died. It was probably just some random sociopath who broke in here and saw a hot chick wandering around. Life sucks, get used to it." Caroline looked at Farrah. "How many carbs does celery have?"

"Caroline, celery is as close to eating air as one can possibly get. You'll be fine."

"Are you sure? Cause my ass is huge, I swear. I need to lose three pounds before the Spring Fling."

Farrah sighed. Being friends with Caroline was certainly a challenge, although it could be rewarding occasionally. Very occasionally. Mostly just at birthdays and Christmas when Caroline would buy her Tasty Couture purses. As she watched Caroline take a micro-bite out of a celery stick, Farrah wondered for the millionth time why on earth she had chosen to dumb herself down just to have friends.

* * *

><p>Sometime around midnight, if anyone had been around to look, they would have seen a figure of average weight and indeterminate height disappear gracefully into the old cage elevator that led to the Aperture basements. And if anyone had been in the basement, they would have seen that figure disappear slyly through a large crack in the wall near the boiler room. And if anyone had been on the other side of that crack, they would have seen the figure going down the rusty metal stairs, and then into an abandoned security office, where they unwrapped a large black bundle and started cleaning the blood off their tools.<p>

And if anyone had been around to listen, they would have heard the figure singing in a clear, bright voice.

"I know you belong to somebody new," and they scrubbed at the knives so carefully, "but tonight you belong to me," and they laid them down so carefully on the black cloth, everything so neat and precise. "Although we're apart, you're part of my heart," and they wrapped the knives back up in the black cloth, "but tonight you belong to me," and they left the security office, singing softly all the way.

If anyone had been there to see - but they weren't. Only ghosts observed the actions of the solitary figure as they traveled farther into the ruins of Aperture's labs, past crumbling towers and flooded test chambers, to the room where they hid their tools.

"My honey, I know, with the dark, that you will be gone," they sang, prying up the loose floorboard, placing the bundle inside it, "but tonight, you belong to me."

* * *

><p>Chell was going down to breakfast when the announcement came on.<p>

"Attention all Aperture students, this is your principal, Cave Johnson."

Everyone froze in place, not knowing what to expect. Chell was stopped on the stairs.

"This morning, the body of another student was found outside the school. Out of respect, their name will not be revealed at this time. I would like to ask everyone to remain calm and proceed as usual. The police are on the scene. There is grief counseling available for those who need it. Thank you."

The first emotion Chell felt was surging, roaring panic. What if it was Wheatley? Oh god, what if it was Wheatley? She pushed her way down the stairs, barely noticing that she was screaming at everyone to get out of the way. She couldn't be alone. She just couldn't be. Her sneakered feet slapped on the hard floor, taking her in the direction of the cafeteria. If he wasn't at their table, if he wasn't there -

His sandy-blonde head stuck out above the crowd, and she dashed for him, yelling out his name with unabashed concern, not even caring that she was talking.

"Wheatley! Wheatley," Chell wheezed, catching up to him at last. "What's going on?"

"Oh, you talk now," he said. "That's new."

"There isn't time for writing. Who the fuck died this time?" Her voice was hoarse and shrill with worry.

Wheatley pursed his lips. "You aren't going to like this," he said. "Not that you would like anyone dying, but, uh."

He exhaled deeply, closed his eyes for a moment, and then said, "Chell, it was Rick."


	6. Sweet Caroline

**A/N: **Another month, another chapter, another gradually more depressing entry in the lives of Chell and company. I have started college. Theater kids are fun. I also have no spare time to myself anymore, but that's another story. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Sweet Caroline<br>****  
><strong>_"i'm miss world, somebody kill me, kill me pills, no one cares, my friends, my friends  
>i'm miss world, watch me break and watch me burn, no one is listening, my friends<br>i make my bed i lie in it, i make my bed i die in it"  
><em>  
><em>- miss world, hole<br>_

Although there were times in the past when Chell had wished dearly to see Caroline cry, she had never wanted to see this.

Chell and Wheatley had found her after lunch, as they were walking down the sixth floor social studies hallway. Wheatley heard a series of choking noises from the janitor's supply closet, and upon further investigation, they discovered Caroline bawling her eyes out. For once, she didn't make any disparaging cracks about Chell's adoption or Wheatley's Wheatleyness. She just sat there, gobs of black eye makeup streaking down her tan face, and cried. Chell thought Caroline might have been saying something, but she couldn't make out any words in the other girl's inconsolable sobs.

"I'm sorry," Chell said, and reached out for Caroline's hand, only to be slapped away.

"Don't touch me!" Caroline hissed, scrambling backwards into the supply closet, her knees drawn up to her chest. "Don't touch me."

She was shaking, her eyes red and wild, gasping for air. There were fingernail marks on her legs. Her white-blonde hair was in disarray, floating around her head.

"He's gone," Caroline mumbled to herself, looking down at the ground. "He's gone, he's gone, he's gone. Where did he go?"

"I don't know, Caroline," Wheatley said. "I'm sorry."

"Do you want to go to the nurse?" Chell asked.

"No!" Caroline shook her head furiously. "Don't take me there, don't take me there. They'll tell me I'm crazy. Don't take me there. He's gone, he's gone."

"Maybe if you asked the principal, your parents could come and pick you up," Wheatley offered. "School doesn't seem to be the best place for you right now."

"No!" she said again. "I don't want to see Mr. Johnson. He'll make me do it. He'll make me do it again, and I don't want to."

Chell and Wheatley exchanged a puzzled glance.

"Do what?" asked Chell.

Caroline wiped her watering eyes on her sleeve, her mouth set in a hard pink line as she glared at her interrogators. "He has a weakness for beautiful things," she said hoarsely.

Chell and Wheatley exchanged another glance as they simultaneously put two and two together and came up with pi.

"Bloody hell," Wheatley breathed. "I'm so sorry."

Both of them were. They had always taken Caroline at face value, Chell thought as she stared at her former nemesis, and that had been a terrible mistake. They should have questioned her as they did with everything else, analyzing her terrible body image, her constant put-downs, her need for attention, but instead they had just written Caroline off as a bitch and stuck her in a mental box somewhere. Now Caroline was starting to look a lot less like Regina George and a lot more like a pageant child; she flaunted all the external trappings of maturity when inside she was just a scared, broken little thing, as desperate and frightened as Chell herself had been. Maybe even worse than Chell had been. She had lost a friendship, but Caroline had lost her love, and her innocence, and other things besides.

"Oh, everyone's sorry," Caroline snapped, "but no one can do a goddamn thing. You two are lucky. No one expects anything of you. You could come into the cafeteria wearing your underwear on your head, and you wouldn't get a second glance. But Caroline has to be the best, always. She has to look the best and have the hottest boyfriend and say all the right things. And treat the little people like they're shit on the bottom of her platform sandals. I don't know myself. I don't know myself anymore. He's gone. He's gone."

Chell reached again for Caroline's hand, and this time Caroline did not resist her. In fact, Caroline began to squeeze Chell's hand so tightly it hurt her fingers, but Chell didn't pull away. She knew that Caroline needed someone to be with her, to hold her hand, and Chell would do it, even if it hurt.

"Don't you want to get out of that closet?" Wheatley asked. "You should come with us."

"No," Caroline said. "Don't take me to see anyone. I don't want - "

"Oh no, I didn't mean like that, I meant come back to Chell's dorm with us. It doesn't matter if we take the afternoon off, the whole school's in an uproar anyway and everyone will be too distracted to pay attention. Come on, it'll make you feel better."

Wheatley gave her a watery smile and stood up, extending his hand. Caroline shook her head again.

"It's alright, Caroline, we're your friends," he said.

"Friends," Caroline mumbled, turning the word over in her mouth as if she had never heard it before. "You're my friends."

Chell helped Caroline up off the dirty floor, and the three of them walked back to Chell's dorm together. _Friends, _Wheatley had said, and it was a bit of a white lie on his part, but to shun Caroline in her time of need would make them no better than she had been. The scared, heartbroken girl in the closet had been the real Caroline, Wheatley was sure of it. He didn't know much about a lot of things, but he knew that you couldn't fake that kind of breakdown. Caroline had been treated as one-dimensional, for so long, by everyone, and Wheatley felt an acute twinge of guilt at knowing that he had been part of it.

But all of that would change. They could make things better. They could introduce this girl to their traditions, their jokes, their silent signals. Caroline sat on Chell's bed, and cried some more. Wheatley tried to get her to eat something, but Caroline said she felt like her mouth was made out of sandpaper. Chell suggested they watch a movie, but both of them had forgotten that Donnie Darko wasn't exactly a happy movie, and they had to turn it off when Caroline started sobbing again. Chell and Wheatley sat on either side of her, and held her hands until she was calm. They showed her the Bo Burnham special, and Caroline couldn't really laugh, but sometimes she smiled and made a peculiar wheezing noise.

The next day, Caroline and Farrah sat with them at breakfast, and instead of her usual meal of a single apple and a handful of diet pills, Caroline had gotten french toast, effectively telling her diet to go fuck itself. She still looked pale, heartbroken, like she would collapse if someone so much as poked her in the shoulder, but the way she carried herself had changed. Chell's lab partner in Dangerously Advanced Chemistry was sick that day, and instead of doing the work by herself, she somehow found herself part of Caroline's group. It was a little hard to keep up with the conversation, because Chell could only write so fast, and Cat Curie asked about a million questions a minute, but it was enjoyable nevertheless.

"They were so nice to me yesterday," Caroline said. "Like, really, really nice." She looked like she was going to cry again.

"Carrie, you're being hopelessly vague," Cat said, pouring some unidentifiable blue liquid into a beaker. "What kind of nice were they, exactly? Because there's a difference between let's-be-friends nice and let's-have-a-threesome nice. I mean, I assumed they were the first kind of nice, but you never can tell these days."

"They told me to stop crying in the closet and took me to Chell's dorm, where I cried over food instead."

"What kind of food?"

"Peanut butter and Oreos. Together."

"Chell, do you really eat that crap? It'll give you stomach cancer. Everyone knows that," Farrah chimed in.

_If I'm going to die, I'd rather die happily and surrounded by chocolate._

"Why do you write in that notebook all the time?" Cat asked. She tilted her head in a manner that reminded Chell of a nervous parakeet, complete with an orange crest of hair. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, just asking."

Farrah gave an annoyed sigh and picked up a test tube. "Cat, would you shut up for just one second? We're supposed to have this done by the end of the period."

"Farrah!" Caroline said. "Let her talk."

_I took a vow of silence, _Chell wrote. _I thought that was common knowledge by now. When they find the killer, I'll start talking again._

"Well, I didn't know," Cat said. "That's...noble of you, Chell. Not many people would do something that extreme."

Chell smiled. _Thank you._

"I think it's like something out of a Greek tragedy," Farrah said. "Now, can we get back to work? I don't want Mr. Newell to yell at us again."

* * *

><p><em>"Teresa Wu to the principal's office. Teresa Wu to the principal's office."<em>

The girl rolled her eyes theatrically and got out of her seat, slinging her purple plaid bag over her shoulder. As she walked to the door of the art room, the various chains and safety pins on her outfit jangled and clanked like Christmas bells. She was a textbook example of the kind of punk rock that is manufactured, neatly packaged, and sold at your local mall for a price so highly inflated that actual punks would never be able to afford it. Her dark, narrow eyes were smudged with eyeliner in a way that suggested she had spent at least half an hour to recreate the effects of a five-minute romp in the sheets, and her black hair had a lone streak of blue through it. She let the door slam behind her, and continued her noisy, rebellious shuffle up to Mr. Johnson's office.

Upon entering the austere, beige waiting area, Teresa slumped into a chair. The girl seated next to her looked about four feet tall and was shaking like a leaf.

"What's your problem?" Teresa asked with a sneer.

"I've never been in trouble before," the other girl squeaked. "I don't want to go to Hell."

"Oh my _god,_" Teresa said. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that that stuff isn't real? I bet you still believe in Santa and the Tooth Fairy, too."

"You're a blasphemer," the mouse-girl said. "And you know what they do to blasphemers."

"Is that a kind of Pokemon?"

The other girl, wisely, did not reply.

The bored-looking secretary behind the desk pushed her glasses farther down her nose. "Teresa Wu?"

Teresa stood up. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Johnson will see you now."

Teresa took a left and walked down the long hallway to Cave Johnson's office. His door was ajar, and he was seated behind his desk. The telephone receiver was tucked under his ear, and he held up his finger in a "one second" gesture.

"No, don't be ridiculous, we can't close the school. Education stops for no one, not even serial killers. Yes, I _know. _We're upping security as much as we can, but all we have is a couple of robotic monkeys and a narcoleptic Canadian. Yes, I _know, _the FBI are working on it. They're supposed to investigate the basements this week, that's the only place they haven't searched. Well, for God's sake, what do you expect me to do? If we send the kids home they're going to rot their brains on television, and if they do that our test scores will be bad for the nineteenth year in a row, and if the test scores are bad, then _adios _federal funding and hello being a shower curtain factory again. No, I'm not drunk! What makes you think I'm drunk? Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Bye."

Mr. Johnson hung up the phone and turned to Teresa.

"Miss Wu. Please, sit."

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Teresa jingled over and sat down with a loud _clank._

"Why am I here?"

"Well, for one thing, you called Mr. Rattmann a douchebag. You can call your friends whatever you want, but teachers are a different story, and for someone who supposedly has a genius-level IQ it would behoove you to put a little more effort into your education and a little less into sticking safety pins through your nose."

"But you don't understand, Mr. Johnson. I'm _different._"

"Really?" Cave Johnson quirked an eyebrow. "Because you look just like every other different kid I've ever seen."

Teresa had no words.

"Also, contrary to what people may tell you, we are cracking down hard on people who skip their classes, and if you miss Trig one more time so you can go smoke dope with your friends behind the greenhouse, your ass is grass."

"How do you know I - " Teresa gulped like a wet fish.

"We installed a new security system a couple days ago. Don't think you can hide your illegal activities from me. I can see everything you do, missy."

"I hope you can't see _everything _I do," Teresa muttered.

"What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson, I won't do it again."

"Good girl. Now, I've got more miscreants to see and a serial killer to catch. Scoot!"

Teresa scooted out the door, her first display of obedience in quite some time. As she walked back through the waiting room, she noticed three other kids talking to the mouse-girl; a tall blonde boy, a short brunette, and Caroline McLain. What the reigning queen of superficiality was doing with two nerds and a holy roller, Teresa had no idea. The two nerds glanced at Teresa, then gave each other a knowing look that Teresa was used to by now. Although she would never admit it, she lived to have people judge her. The weirder they thought she was, the more pride she had in it. She carefully researched what everything normal was, then did the exact opposite of that. To the kids she smoked weed behind the greenhouse with, Teresa was super cool, but to everyone else, she was a laughingstock. It didn't help that she wouldn't shut up about how unique she was and complained about "bad vibes" all the time. Teresa was many things, but she was definitely not herself.

"Hey, you're Teresa, right?" Caroline said.

Teresa nodded.

"Could you come over here for a sec? We want to ask you something."

"What do you _want,_" Teresa grumbled as she walked over to the group. "I have to go to a poetry slam in half an hour."

"I threw a book of poetry against the wall so hard it slammed once," the blonde boy said. "Which book are you throwing? I think mine was by some French guy. His name was long and full of consonants."

The brunette elbowed him in the side and gave him a dirty look.

"_Ow, _Chell," he said. "Anyway, we were wondering if you might have heard anything about C.C."

"Si, si? I'm Asian, not Mexican. Contrary to popular belief, there is indeed a difference."

"No, no, Cassie Cassavetes," he stammered.

"Oh."

"So what have you heard?"

Teresa had heard quite a lot about Cassie Cassavetes. But she knew enough to understand that rumor was rarely, if ever, the same as fact. She had smoked with Cassie in the girl's bathroom once. She had seen boys giving Cassie money. Sometimes on the weekends there would be different cars that picked Cassie up and took her out of town. And worst of all there was a rumor about Cassie and the principal. Cave Johnson was very quiet about his personal life, but the students who had managed to pick up tidbits of information knew that their principal was, for lack of a better term, kind of a creep. Teresa wasn't sure if he was the kind of creep that took advantage of naive and poor young girls, but she had a gut feeling that something had happened. Teresa had a lot of gut feelings, which she thought might mean that she was psychic. It wouldn't hurt to tell these kids what she had heard, even if they weren't the kind of people she'd normally hang out with. They were grieving, and her words would make them feel better. She was sure of it.

Unfortunately, since Teresa's brain had already switched into poetry slam mode, her actual words were mostly gibberish.

"Don't trust Mr. Johnson. They took her away. They took her money and she gave them lemonade. There was a diary. The answer is beneath us."

Teresa looked like she was in a trance. She had begun to sway back and forth as she spoke, and her eyes were shut. Chell stepped closer to her and waved a hand in front of Teresa's face, but got no response. She then grabbed Teresa by the shoulders and shook her gently at first, then harder. Teresa's eyes snapped open, and Chell jumped back in surprise.

"What just happened?" Teresa asked worriedly, looking down at her hands, which had begun to shake violently.

Wheatley's brow furrowed as he stared at Teresa. "I think you just had a stroke."

"But strokes are for people who are like, really old."

"It looked like she went on a vision quest," Caroline said. "You know, the thing where Native Americans go out in the woods and meet their spirit animal after not eating for three days?"

Chell dug her notepad out of the pocket of her khaki jacket and turned to the blank wall, beginning to write something down.

"Sometimes when people do that at my church, they're having a transformative religious experience," Maggie piped up. "Maybe you had one of those?"

"I highly fucking doubt it," Teresa said.

Chell turned back to the group, holding up her notepad for all to see. _Guys, stop being stupid. Teresa, you started swaying and you looked like you were having a trance or a seizure maybe. I wouldn't worry about it too much but you should probably go see someone just in case. _

"Whatever, I'm out of here. I don't know why I even wanted to help you. Bye."

And with that, Teresa stomped out of the waiting room, jingling all the way.

* * *

><p>It had been a week since Rick died. His family lived in California, and there hadn't been enough time for Caroline to get things together to make it out for the funeral. It didn't really count as a funeral because his body wasn't there; it was still being inspected in some FBI forensic lab somewhere, checking for specific types of knife marks and splatter patterns. Rick's mother had sent Caroline an email saying that once they got Rick's body back, they were going to have him cremated, and that Caroline was more than welcome to fly out and throw his ashes into the ocean.<p>

Caroline knew she wouldn't be able to do it. It wasn't like she wouldn't have the free time - summer was coming up, after all - but she couldn't go out there and face Rick's family. She couldn't stand there and watch people taking what remained of her boyfriend out of a sandwich bag and throw him in the ocean. Chell had told her (well, written her, really) about a process where ashes can be made into diamonds, and Caroline thought that was perfect for Rick. He could be a tiny little diamond ring that would fit so tight on her pinky finger it would never fall off, not even in the shower. She would wear him every day of her life, even if she got married to someone else. Caroline didn't think she would, though.

She lay on her bed, watching the light patterns created by the sunset filter through the window onto the picture-covered walls. Reds and yellows and oranges splashed across the glossy portraits. Her and Rick at homecoming sophomore year, when her hair was still brown and he still had braces. Rick in his football uniform, with a smiling Caroline hanging off his arm. They had been so much more than anyone ever saw. To the outside world Caroline was a self-righteous bitch and Rick was her dumb-as-rocks plaything, but those were just roles. Everyone had a part to play at Aperture, and they fulfilled theirs to the letter. Behind closed doors they were so much more than anyone saw. When Mr. Johnson had taken her into his office, and threatened her, and made her do things for him she didn't want to do, Rick helped her through it. They had planned their wedding already; on the beach in California where Rick's parents first met, both of them barefoot, white flowers in Caroline's hair. Caroline began to cry again, sitting up so as not to choke.

It was all too much. The world was all too much and it spun so fast. Caroline had stopped wearing makeup. The brown roots were beginning to show through her platinum hair. She barely even cared if her clothes matched these days. What went into her mouth or on her body was no longer a concern. Caroline had always had an inexplicable sadness within her, a thing that colored even her happiest experiences and made her words harsh and sour, and now it was threatening to rise up and swallow her. She didn't have the energy to hate people for little things anymore. She didn't have the energy to do much of anything, except lie there with her arms crossed over her chest like it was she who was in the coffin instead of Rick.

There was a song stuck in Caroline's head from the memorial service the school had held. They'd played it over the slideshow of Rick's pictures. A happy blonde baby with missing teeth faded into a happy blonde teenager with the same carefree smile, and the song went _may angels lead you in, hear you me my friends. _

"What would you think of me now?" Caroline whisper-sung, her tearful voice shaking, stumbling over the words. "So lucky, so strong, so proud..."

The sun set on another day at Aperture, and Caroline was alone.


End file.
